Rated: M for adult themes: language, violence, mental rape, character death, mech erotica, torture, gore, and suicidal ideation. This varies from chapter to chapter, so read at your own risk.

Important Note: I started this series of fics before Revenge of the Fallen hit the theaters. This is an A.U. 2007 movie verse fic, NOT a ROTF/DOTM/AE/LK/BB or whatever follows fic.

Disclaimer: The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira and Hardcore. They are mine. Everything else is copyrighted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this but wish I could.

XxxX

Full Velocity: Apocalypse Code

Chapter 13: The Devil in the Details

XxxX

Optimus stared at the remains of the vanquished Decepticon; as energon pooled around the cooling frame, the frown on his features deepened. He hated the senseless violence and death. He sighed at the wasted lives and the farce their species had become. Once the word "Cybertron" held weight and influence in the galactic community, now they were nothing. Once a respected race with a mighty military that made even the Quintessons pause, Megatron had reduced them to scavengers, their homes destroyed, their numbers fallen from the billions to under a million, their economy worthless, and their future nearly hopeless. Now, a weak, dying world destroyed by its own citizens. Primus must be disgusted; hate and greed for power destroyed his creation.

An endless war to stop his maniacal brother from turning their planet into a slave state, stripping away what little choices its people had. Optimus might have surrendered if he thought his brother would have stopped with Cybertron, but the High Lord Protector had his ambition for the whole galaxy.

"Perfect Order," Megatron drawled during a long night of high grade, giving name to his ideology. "Everyone has a place and knows that place. Need more laborers for the spaceports? Take the excess of workers from services. There will be no need for oil bars or energon bistros; all fuel will be supplied and rationed to reduce waste. That is the goal: zero waste of resources. When everyone gets what they need, there won't be any crime. Dead End can finally be cleaned out and turned into a respectable neighborhood again."

"And what if the people want to choose their own way? What if they do not want to be shipped off to a new area just because workers are needed? What about the arts? The inventors? The writers and poets who create beauty through freedom of expression. Where will they be in this new world of yours? Do they have a place?" Optimus knew of his brother's poetry and love of written words.

Megatron waved the questions away. "Artists, inventors, and writers will be identified and put to work creating what is needed and what they are told to create. As for those who refuse to cooperate, they will be removed." His words began to slur as the high grade hit his systems.

That night still haunts him. The night his brother showed his true intentions, and the nebulous specters of war drifted into existence.

He had been so young and naive that he thought they were just words, wild ideas thrown around and forgotten. He should have known. Elita had been older; she had seen and experienced more than him; she knew what truth hid in Megatron's drunken musings but he had not listened to her concerns. He had not recognized the danger that night, not for a long time, not until it was too late and the cataclysm engulfed Cybertron. He carried the blame for not understanding what his brother planned and dismissing those who had warned him. Love and devotion stayed his hand when he had a chance to execute the would-be-tyrant, even knowing Megatron's action had killed Elita. He could have ended this long ago but made the wrong choice.

So, the war raged on, and for what? Their kind faced extinction; no new generations would follow. If someone did win, they would have nothing. Yet they kept fighting and killing each other out of hate and spite. He continued to execute his people to keep those he cared for safe, perpetually trapped in a loop of death because he could not pull the trigger when he had the chance.

The Decepticon at his peds, reduced to scrap by his hand, hammered home the horrors spawned that night. There would never be a "Perfect Order"; sentient beings desired freedom. Freedom of choice, even if those choices are wrong. Freedom to express themselves and create, even if those expressions and creations served no purpose. Freedom to endlessly wander or remain rooted in one spot their entire lives. Freedom to better or change themselves, the freedom to stay the same, and the freedom to exist. Megatron's need to control and dictate order took that away, and his own ineptitude prolonged the misery.

Looking up, all optics and eyes stared at him. What did they see? Was he a strong leader vanquishing another foe, the perpetual champion? Or did they know the truth, a cowered forced to butcher his own people?

Emerald green optics met his, and he quickly assessed his mate's injuries, all minor. As he stared at her, self-loathing clogged his thoughts. How could she even want to be near him? He had not protected her. Fortunately, the other Decepticon did not realize who he held in his hands. Had the mech made an obvious connection, the outcome of this day might have been very different.

Turning from the assembled group, he grabbed the 'Con by the ankle and dragged it to the side of the road. Then, he began clearing cars so they could continue onward.

XxxX

Velocity stood, frozen to her spot. The riot of brutal, dark emotions crashed over her in a cascade of revulsion. Optimus had turned away from her, turned away from all of them.

She wanted to go to her mate, but a volatile cloud surrounded him; even from this distance, it slid along her electrical field like a knife blade against bare skin. Velocity noticed the others, gave the Prime a wide space. Even Sideswipe remained quiet, clearing the road of battle debris so their trailers could pass.

Instead of helping, Velocity walked to the road's edge and sat down. Dangling her legs over the drop-off, she began plucking twigs and limbs caught in the seams of her armor. Jagged mountain peaks poked the blue sky. Anger smoldered within, spurred by hurt and resentment. She took a tumble down a mountainside, and Optimus didn't even check on her, his mate. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched the mechs clear the road, knowing she should help, but - fuck it. She chose to sulk. Focusing on the larger picture did little to help her choke down the hurt.

Something happened, something snapped, and Optimus's mood darkened dangerously; she felt the frigid hate and disgust radiate from their bond. She knew she could easily ask him, but right now, she didn't want to; discomfort pulsed from a thousand minor dents and scratches; her gyros still needed time to stabilize, and he could easily come to her. She removed another branch from her upper arm and tossed it over the ledge as fear from the whole event still coursed through her lines. No, she was not in the mood to deal with Optimus, his mood, or the inevitable fight. Sitting on the edge of a steep precipice and pouting seemed safer.

Velocity startled as someone slid a stick from between armor plates; the tingle of activated sensory nodes made her shiver.

"Does it hurt?" Susan asked.

All the tiny injuries ached over her frame, none of them serious, but together, they screamed a miserable chorus. "No, just annoying," she lied.

"Hold still, you have a couple of more." Warm fingers brushed away pine needles, leaves, and twigs, reaching spots the femme couldn't.

Practicality kept Velocity from telling Susan to "fuck off" and let the woman continue. Quickly, tiny, nimble human fingers plucked away the debris as Velocity worked down her legs. Finishing, the woman sat beside her, mimicking her by dangling her legs over the ledge. They sat in communal silence.

"Thank you," Velocity remembered to say. She gazed at the world around them. Other than the path of snapped trees marking her tumble, it remained beautiful and wild, but the beauty held danger. The Decepticons still lingered in the Null Zone and hid among the detritus of fallen technology. Holy shit, she even sat on one without knowing.

A tentative tingle announced a presence behind her. Turning, both she and Susan looked up at the Prime. Velocity stilled, anticipating - something but hoping for affection, attention, concern, anything but the previous roiling darkness. As the Prime stepped closer, his electrical field arched coldly against hers. Velocity narrowed her optic shutters but remained seated; her hands slowly curled into fists.

Susan bounced to her feet, her attention going from one to the other.

Optimus did not look her in the optics, instead staring someplace to her left. "You are uninjured." Velocity could not decide if he meant it as a question or a statement.

"Whatever. I'm fine," she snapped. Optimus winced at her tone and stepped back.

"We will leave shortly." His optics had darkened to a deep sapphire, and he had blocked their bond. "We need to reach NORAD by nightfall. Are you able to transform?"

"Yup, I'm good," the edge of anger sliced through her words. She resisted the need to throw rocks at the Prime, wanting him to say something, do anything to show he was concerned about her. Instead, he glanced away.

Susan spoke up, "Can I ride with you?"

Velocity didn't respond, assuming the woman meant Optimus.

"I think she is talking to you," her mate stated flatly.

Looking at the forgotten woman beside her, Velocity blinked. "Oh? I guess. I mean, if you want to. Sure." The surprise of anyone wanting to ride with her stunned her. She hadn't had a passenger since Simmons. A weight pressed against her chest, and she thought about the man left immobile in a bed, his life and future taken from him.

"I think that is a good idea," Optimus nodded as he turned to walk away.

Jumping to her feet, Susan yelled, "Girl trip!" as she hurried off, probably to gather her gear.

XxxX

"How did the meeting go," Paul asked as she entered the barn. He continued to fork hay into the stalls.

Miriam paused a couple of seconds to let her eyes adjust to the darkness; warm hay, horse, and cow dung assaulted her. She rubbed her nose, knowing she would never get used to the animal smells.

"The meeting was informative. We compared notes, and it appears that the bitch trying to take over D.C. has executed a couple of prominent senators and congressional aids. She is intentionally searching for members of the government and killing them. Jesus, Paul. Who would do that?" The Secretary of Defense knew what kinds of people attacked their own government; her position brought religious zealots, anarchists, fascists, militants, and plain wackos across her desk in neat files. The FBI, NSA, and DHS all kept tabs on domestic groups, but seeing the documents and realizing people she stood next to at Starbucks, sat beside in a concert, or changed the oil in her car could become a coup member still didn't sink in as possible. Things like that happened in other parts of the world, not the United States, or so she wanted to tell herself.

Shooing a chicken to collapse on a bale of hay, Miriam sighed. "How can the country come back from this? How can we recover and rebuild? We lack a centralized government or communication. Groups are taking over small territories, possibly fragmenting the shattered remains of the country. I don't have any backing or way to enact laws or plans or any way to tell the citizenry what those plans might be. People are dying, we are defenseless, and I can't do a fucking thing about it." Burying her face in her hands, she cracked under the weight of it all. A brutal sob racked her, and tears streamed down her face. Breathing became a struggle as the reality of the new world sank her deeper into despair.

As she cried, two arms encircled her and pulled her into a muscular chest. Desperately grabbing, she twisted her hands into his shirt. Eventually, the tears ran out, wrung dry of her emotions. Pulling back, Miriam looked at Paul, embarrassment heating her neck and face.

"I'm sorry," she stammered between hitched breaths. Then, Miriam noticed his shirt; she had left a dark patch of tears and snot. She pulled away, but he kept his hand on her, gently tethering them together.

They sat for a few minutes. She pretended to watch a chicken, but Paul stared at her, and her heart skipped a beat as embarrassment rolled over her in a crushing wave. She considered leaving, running away in shame, but her position of power would not allow it, and she tried for some semblance of dignity. Regaining her composure, the unofficial President of the United States looked at the man sworn to protect her, hating that he saw her break down.

Paul brushed the loose strands of hair stuck to her drying face, brown eyes roving over her. "You have the Autobots. Optimus Prime sent Prowl and his team to find and safeguard the government. They are working to end this. You are not doing this alone; they will help you, and I will help you."

A sigh deflated her; she could not look at the man sitting inches away. "But what if," she paused. "You know I never trusted them. I agreed to take an EMP to a meeting with them as a precaution. They have no reason to help me, to help us."

"And yet, they are here, willing to help. We will get through this." His thumb wiped away her tears. Paul leaned in, his lips brushing hers.

Miriam Hernandez froze in shock, confusion spinning her sideways.

Her bodyguard, the man who brought her to safety in the West Virginia woods, watched her closely.

"I am fifteen years your senior," Miriam pointed out, still breathless and hoping it wasn't twenty-plus years difference.

Paul shrugged and slid his hand to the back of her head. His eyes searched her as the chickens clucked softly around them. "Do you want this?"

Miriam desperately wanted and needed it.

XxxX

"So, what is he like?" Susan asked, curled comfortably in her passenger seat, gear and weapons stowed on the driver's side. Velocity refused to allow the woman to sit in the driver's seat; that spot belonged to someone else.

Velocity had ignored the woman and focused on making sure they made the Highway 9 to Highway 24 interchange. The "T" intersection was hard to miss. Slowing and pulling to the side, the convoy passed, allowing her to take a place at the end of the line. The Prime could lead for a while, and she wanted some distance between them, tired of her mate's electrical field rubbing annoyingly against hers. Now, she had to be - polite. "What is who like?"

"Oh, my God. Optimus Prime. What is he like?" Susan smacked the femme's dash.

Velocity jerked, "Don't do that. Stop touching!"

"Sorry, I forgot. But what is he like? I imagine he is all strong, and smart, and sexy smooth, but I don't know; today, he seemed cold and moody."

"I guess he is average, and he is upset over the attack," she refused to mention the Prime's mood swings, domineering attitude, stubbornness, and near obsession with basketball. Velocity didn't know why she defended him, and that annoyed her. His actions had hurt her, leaving her drifting emotionally, unsettled, and angry. The attack had upset Optimus; a spark of truth ignited and flickered in her thoughts. He may be upset, but he still didn't need to act like an ass toward her.

"Average? If that is average, maybe I need to dump Patrick and get a Cybertronian boyfriend. Is he your boyfriend, or are you two married?"

Straddling a rotting skunk, Velocity continued down the road. "We are bonded. It's like being married."

Susan shifted in the seat. "Was there a ceremony?"

"No ceremony. Bonding is private." At least ours was, she thought to herself.

"Oh, well, that's boring," her passenger huffed. "Is he good in bed?"

"What?" Velocity swerved wildly, her tires dropping off the concrete, and she overcorrected violently. "I am not discussing this.' Heat crawled through her circuits.

Susan cackled as she held on. "Oh. My. God. You are embarrassed. Superior space robots get uncomfortable talking about sex."

"Shut up!" Velocity snapped, slowing, and bringing herself under control.

They traveled in silence for several miles. The sun began slipping toward the mountains.

"So, is Prime like a title or his last name?"

A much safer line of discussion, and Velocity felt comfortable answering. "Prime is a title. He is at the top of Cybertronian society. Like the President of Earth, if there was such a thing."

"So, you are second in command or like the First Lady?"

They traveled through a wide valley, flat and open land left few spaces for the enemy to hide, and Velocity relaxed.

"Neither. Prowl is second in command, and the First Lady has duties assigned to the title. I have neither rank nor political responsibilities."

"So, what do you do? Do you have a job or something?"

Velocity sighed and considered jettisoning the woman to the road, but at seventy miles an hour…. "I am the Human Relations Advisor to the Prime."

"Seriously? You don't seem like the advisor type, and how are you an expert in humans when you guys haven't been on Earth for more than five years?" Susan propped her boots on Velocity's dash.

"I was sparked on Earth; I knew humans before I knew other Cybertronians." The well-rehearsed lines slipped easily from her, lies to twist the truth and hide her past. She zipped around a stalled truck.

Susan sat upright. "Dude, you are from Earth. So, you and Optimus Prime haven't been together very long."

"Why are you so interested in Optimus?" Rocky peaks marked their next pass through the mountains, but night's shadows were already chasing them as they raced East. So close to their next stop, but not close enough, nightfall would catch them.

Wiggling in her seat, Susan admitted, "I am just curious. You Autobots are so like us humans in so many ways but so different. And the thought that you get married or - bonded is just cool. Do you aliens believe in 'till death do you part.' What do you do if you don't get along and want a divorce? Not like anyone would want to divorce someone like Optimus Prime."

Grumbling, Velocity responded. "We don't divorce. Till death do you part is just death," the last few words slipped from her vocals as a whisper.

If the woman heard the comment, she didn't acknowledge it. "What does Ratchet do? I know he repairs you guys."

A sigh hissed from the femme's vents as her tires hummed over the road. "He is the Chief Medical Officer, the one in charge of ensuring all Autobots receive repairs and supplies needed to keep them functioning and healthy."

"That's cool. Is he the only doctor you have?"

Velocity responded with what she knew. "No. First Aid, Ultra Magnus's Medical Officer, is on the Parhelion, and I heard he has two assistants. They are beneath Ratchet in rank." It was going to be a long two-and-a-half hours to NORAD.

XxxX

Darkness claimed the passes between the mountains before the sun had fully set. Their two-and-a-half-hour trip stretched several more hours as they negotiated the roads without headlights. Velocity could not answer why their lights didn't work; she didn't know. Silently, she considered the possibility that the functions keeping a Cybertronian alive had a different wavelength, buffering, insulation, or something, so the null pulse didn't affect them. Or she was utterly and totally wrong. Later, she might ask Ratchet how it worked, but whatever the reason, they didn't have lights, specialized sensors, internal comms, or a host of other abilities that would make this trip easier. Fortunately, a moon, fat and full, had peaked above the mountains, and her passenger had dozed off an hour ago, ending the incessant questions and chatter. Unfortunately, Velocity needed to check her maps, and a sleeping passenger kept her from transforming to do that.

An idea popped into the femme's processor. Shaking on her shocks, Velocity jostled the woman in her front seat. "Susan. Wake up."

Startled, Susan immediately reached for her rifle, her head whipping around. "What's going on?"

"Calm down," Velocity instructed. "I need you to open my glovebox and get the maps in there." Leaving formation, the femme sped up. She passed the rest of the convoy, honking her horn to announce her intentions, and took the lead position. Colorado Springs and a convoluted route to Cheyenne Mountain sat ahead of them.

The sensation of hands digging through one of her storage areas sent chills through Velocity, and she reconsidered the idea.

Just about when Velocity decided to tell the woman to stop, Susan announced cheerfully, "Okay, I have the maps. Now what?" and slammed the door to the glovebox closed.

Velocity winced and recovered. "Now, open the Texaco map to Colorado, find Colorado Springs. We are on Interstate twenty-four, north and west of the city. NORAD is marked with a star. I need you to give me directions. Got it?"

Paper rustled as other maps, and an atlas hit her floorboard. The strike of a lighter produced a small flame. "It looks like you follow twenty-four until twenty-five, then take the south or west junction for less than two miles. After twenty-five, you take highway one fifteen to - okay that's obvious, Norad Rd."

"Got it." Velocity acknowledged and settled into her position as point for the final miles of their trip.

Susan unfolded the map and studied it with the steady flame of her lighter.

XxxX

Authors Notes:

Thank you loyal readers, just knowing you are out there drives me forward.